


Another Chance

by remy71923



Series: Soviets in Love [1]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Family Fluff, Post-Canon Fix-It, Red Room (Marvel), Romance, buckynat - Freeform, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remy71923/pseuds/remy71923
Summary: They tried to wipe his memory away, his memories of his past, who he was, who he had become, but there was one thing they can never take away from him: the redheaded ballerina whom he tried to save, whom he loved, and who still has a hold of his heart after all these years.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Series: Soviets in Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561978
Comments: 1
Kudos: 62





	Another Chance

He remembers it like it was yesterday, remembers it  _ now, _ unlike before when he still hadn’t acquired his memories back, when all his past ever had been was a blur, when all he ever knew was to kill, train and take down missions, and when the redheaded woman he had once loved had been a fleeting love wiped off from his mind over and over again.

But, he figured, she must have been that important to him, because no matter how many times they tried to wipe her off from his head, they can never wipe her off from his heart.

Which is why now, as his memories are restored, he can still remember clearly how, when Natasha had been at a young age of seventeen, when she had been  _ his _ little ballerina training to be the next assassin of the Red Room, he remembered trying to save her. He remembered telling her to meet him one evening in the forest clearing just outside the facility. He remembered her asking him why, and he remembered how he couldn’t  _ say _ why, but he  _ knew _ why. It was as if his consciousness was fighting against the control of the KGB, and somehow he was winning. If he was asking the girl to trust him, he must have been winning.

So he instructed her carefully: to fake the handcuffs and escape at a specific hour during the evening, where he knew there would be a window of time that the instructors and trainers of the Red Room were nowhere near the dormitories where the girls slept. He told her to be as graceful and silent as a ballerina that she was trained to be, and sneak out the window, climb down the ladder and meet him in the forest clearing, where he would be waiting for her, where he would escape with her and save her from the further horrors he knew would be inflicted upon her if she did stay in the Red Room.

He didn’t know why he was doing it. He knew she had been a semblance of what he might have called as someone he loved, his  _ zvezda, _ his  _ lyubov. _ There was just  _ something _ about her,  _ something _ about the Red Room too, that made him feel like she wouldn’t be safe in there, so he had to do something. He had to protect her from them.

“Where are we going,  _ milii moi?” _ she had asked him, during one of their clandestine meetings when he told her all about his plan of escape. He remembered her holding his hand tightly, and him brushing her cheek gently with his flesh hand, as he tipped her head upwards so he can press a chaste kiss on her lips.

“Somewhere safe,” he told her in a whisper. “Somewhere only we will know, and somewhere where it’s only going to be the two of us.”

That evening, they managed to run, escape, to where he had planned on taking her—a small safehouse he had set up not too long ago, and a little far from where they were. He had everything prepared for their departure, as he had a plan in mind; that they would flee together from Russia, and when the time comes that the KGB would fall, they would ask for help so they can live normally, live as normal people,  _ love _ as normal people can.

But when they get to the safehouse, it was already surrounded, and they had been caught.

It had all been a blur after that, and he figured that must have been the time he was put back in cryo, and she had been trained more and harder to become the Black Widow. The Red Room figured them out, of course, and after his memories were wiped clean over and over, and he was eventually released from cryo, she had been gone from the Red Room, and the last thing he heard about her was that his Natalia had become the Black Widow.

He had failed her.

And he had done so over and over again, when, in a moment of complete oblivion and loss of consciousness, he shot a bullet past her stomach to kill a mission, and years after which, he shot her on the shoulder. It was only after both of these events did he realize it was  _ her, _ and she had been affiliated with the enemy—his enemy, the Winter Soldier’s enemy, and that twice in his life did he almost kill the one woman he loved all because she had been captured by his enemies. But he also knew his enemies were good,  _ somehow, _ he knew his enemies were good, and that she was in good hands.

She was good, always have been too good for him.

And after the battle in the Potomac, after he had left his best friend for dead by the lake, he went into hiding. There was only so much he can do to hide from his handlers, much less the people who started looking for him at that time, like Steve and Natalia. But he knew better than to hide from the keen eyes of his little redheaded ballerina, who had managed to find him not long after the battle. He found her inside his small cottage on the outskirts of Kirov, sipping from a mug of coffee she had prepared for herself, probably when he was gone and she managed to track him down to seek him.

“Tell me, _ soldat, _ ” she greeted him cooly when he saw her in his dining area. “How long do you plan on hiding away from me?”

_ She remembered me. _

He can still remember how she helped him through acclimating to the normality of life. He had been running away from traces of whoever was looking for him—Steve, HYDRA, those still affiliated with the KGB, so he had been moving from one place to another in hopes that he can remove all traces of him from wherever he went. But to no avail, apparently, because there she was, who broke into his small cottage and was sipping coffee from the beans he had and brewed some for herself.

“I’ve been tracking you of where you go,” she told him that same day she found him. “It took me quite a long time because I figured you might not remember who I am.” She smiled sadly at him. “But you saved Steve’s life, and I felt a bit of hope that the man I loved might have still been there, and maybe he remembered me.”

He still remembered her, no doubt, but that wasn’t him anymore.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he confessed to her quietly. He remembered her, remembered who he used to be in fragments, but he’s not entirely sure if he still embodied the same kind of man he used to be, the same kind of man his Natalia used to love. “I’m not sure who I am now.”

She got up from her seat and walked over to him, and he watched her carefully, almost cautiously, as she stared into his eyes. She raised her hands to his cheeks, cupping his face, as his hands automatically snaked around her waist, pulling her close, as if it was acting on instinct, and second nature. She gave him a small smile, and closed her eyes, pulling his head down to lean their foreheads together. He also closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, pulling her even closer to him.

He may not be entirely sure of who he had been before, whether he was still the same person as he used to be, but he was sure of one thing, and one thing alone: that the woman in his arms still had a hold of his heart no matter who she was, or who she had become. She made him remember what it was like to be human, and now all that she ever made him remember was that he was once a man with the ability to love and save, rather than hate and kill like what Hydra tried so hard for him to be.

“I do,” she told him softly, running her fingers through his hair like how she used to before, like how she remembered he loved it. Even as the years and seasons passed, he still did, and he relaxed under her touch. “I know who you are. I remember who you are.”

It was only then did he also realize that what happened to her before had almost been the exact same thing that happened to him. They attempted to wipe her memory over and over again, rewiring her memories and altering and changing them, but there was only so much they can alter and touch in her mind, because her memories of him had been untouched no matter what they did, and were still the same and fresh as if it had only been yesterday that they told each other of their love, and of their promises in clandestine meetings and small touches.

“Do you remember me? Who I used to be with you?” she asked him softly.

“I remember you everyday,” he answered her softly, his one hand travelling down from her waist and lifting the hem of her shirt up. She gasped lightly, as his thumbs brushed against the scar that he left.  _ Odessa, _ when she was protecting his mission, and had no choice but to shoot right through her to get to him. “Not who you  _ used _ to be with me, but who you are to me.”

He pulled her shirt down, tightening his grip around her waist, as he pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. “And who you are is good to me,  _ lyubov moya, _ always have been good to me.”

And slowly as time passed, she helped him adjust to the world, and to the normality of modern life, while they figured out how to rekindle and tether back the relationship of what once was them in the past. While he had been learning by himself on his independent run, he appreciated some company, some help into figuring out how to acquire and use technology, how to earn some money without pickpocketing and crime. But when the time came that duty called her back home, she brought him with her back to New York, where they went straight into the Tower hand in hand, where he finally reunited with Steve, and confessed to him of the past he shared with Steve’s best friend and partner.

At first, he felt he had been betrayed, but he later on understood the past they shared and the love they once had for each other. He helped in taking the leaps and strides to help Bucky recover, help  _ them _ with their recovery and rehabilitation, starting, of course, with removing the triggers in his head that can turn him into someone else he didn’t want to be any longer.

And he can still remember the time before either of them were subjected to the final stage of their rehab—the final stage where they can finally set themselves free of the KGB and the Red Room, where they would finally be free from all those who long to control them, and who still has the potential to destroy them. They would be subjected to an intense neurological rehabilitation, as Natasha would undergo surgery to fix whatever the Red Room did in manipulating and destroying her body. Neither of them had been certain it would work, but they figured a chance is a chance still worth taking, and it’s better to try than to not.

So that evening, after a round of lovemaking, when she was resting her head on his chest, over his heart where she can hear it beating just for her, he told her the one thing he feared that evening.

“Tomorrow, we may not remember who we are anymore.”

Natasha only buried her face further in the crook of his neck. “I know.” she murmured, nodding.

James cleared his throat as he pressed a kiss on her hair. “If, by any chance, this might work, and we still remember who we are,” he said softly. “Will you marry me?”

She lifted her head, and looked at him with wide green eyes sparkling and hazy with happiness, love and desire. “Yes.” she answered softly, and he smiled, as he tucked his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer to him so he can place a kiss on her lips.

“I love you.” he told her softly against his mouth.

“I love you too, James.”

It had worked, of course, because even though the world had been cruel to them in the past, it certainly was trying to make up to them now. After their recovery, they got married in a small ceremony the week after where all their newfound friends and family had been present to witness it. Two months after which, a new miracle in the form of a baby growing in Natasha’s womb was created, and seven months after that, they welcomed their little girl, whom they named Rose—Rose Barnes, a spitting image of her beautiful mother with brown wavy hair. They had moved into a small apartment near the Tower, near their friends and family, and had been at their happiest since then, as they tried to live the life James had once promised they would have before, as they tried to live normally and love normally as they deserved.

At the present, James opens the door to the apartment and lets out a sigh of relief as he puts down the paper bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. He pauses in his tracks to listen for any movements or unusual sounds inside, but he relaxes when he can only hear the soft and beautiful hums coming from one of the rooms, immediately bringing a smile to his face as he removes his coat and hangs it up on the coat rack by the front door. He walks over to it, following the soft and soothing sound, and he smiles widely, leaning against the doorframe to their bedroom as he crosses his arms over his chest and smiles.

Her eyes are closed, her expression beautifully peaceful, and a small smile playing on her lips as she sways a little side to side, holding a baby— _ their _ baby girl, so beautiful and wonderful like her mother—close to her chest, her mouth pressing against her soft brown hair that mirrors her father’s. She opens her eyes, and she smiles widely as their eyes meet, and he can’t help but still feel his heart flutter inside his chest as he watches the growing sparkle in her green eyes.

Even after everything they’ve been through, together and apart, it’s insane how she still has that effect on him.

“Look,  _ malyshka,” _ she coos softly, pressing a kiss on their baby girl’s hair. “Look who is home, Papa is home.”

And he smiles, because even though he has been in this family for more than a year now since they got married, it will always be something that will make his heart flutter, as it was something he thought would be impossible for him—for  _ them, _ but not anymore.

The baby coos and lets out a gurgle, extending her arms towards her Papa, and he walks over to his girls. He presses a soft kiss on Natasha’s head, as he gently takes their four-month-old daughter in his arms, cradling her carefully as the baby giggles when he presses a kiss on her forehead. The baby looks up at him with wide green eyes, and he smiles, rubbing his nose against her soft cheek, just as the baby giggles, wiggling and extending her arms over to her father’s face.

“She gets tickled by your beard,” Natasha says, cupping his face with her hand, her thumb stroking over his growing beard. “You better get the shaving done fast.”

And he chuckles, as he leans to press a kiss on her lips, and she hums against his mouth as she kisses him back. “Since when are you against me growing a beard?” he asks teasingly. “I seem to recall  _ someone _ saying it looks good on me.”

“Since we had little Rosie here,” she answers lightly, running her hand gently through their daughter’s soft hair, as the baby gurgles at her mother’s touch. “She gets tickled pretty easily when her Papa kisses her.” Her fingers travel down to rub the baby’s stomach, and the baby lets out a squeal and another giggle, and both parents laugh.

James hums, “She seems to like it though. Maybe only Mama doesn’t like it.” he says, and Natasha chuckles, shaking her head. James smiles as he watches his lover.

He threads his fingers with hers, and tugs her gently over to their bed. He lays down, as Rose rests comfortably on her father’s chest, burying her face in the crook of her neck as he rests his flesh hand on the baby’s back. Natasha climbs beside him, and he pulls her gently by the waist so she is resting her head where his shoulder and chest meets, mere inches away from their daughter’s face. She hums, rubbing her nose against her daughter’s, and the baby lets out a soft giggle and a yawn, and Natasha smiles.

“Always sleepy when Papa is around.” she comments softly, and James looks down as he smiles and chuckles softly, rubbing the baby’s back with his hand as he leans down to press a kiss on top of their daughter’s head.

“She’s comfortable where she is,” he says softly. “Tucked between her Mama and Papa.” He looks at Natasha beside her and smiles. “Where she can feel the love we have for her.”

Once upon a time, he thought he had been the perfect killer, the perfect weapon of destruction. But then even with all of these, he managed to fall in love, and even in the midst of mind control and weaponizing children, he still fought long and hard to protect the one he loved the most. He thought he had failed, he thought he had lost her, but when she found him again many years after, in an attempt to save him the same way he attempted to save her, he just knew that perhaps...perhaps he was made to be something more.

And as he looked down at his perfect little family—his two girls tucked near him and beside him, he believes that he  _ is _ something more. That he is someone perfectly capable of love, and of forming a family. That he is as human as she made him feel like he could be, because he is. 


End file.
